


An Artist's Hands

by donnatroy



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Kisses, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Realizing Feelings, steve draws you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5444441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donnatroy/pseuds/donnatroy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you doing?” he asked with a shaky voice.</p><p>“Steven Grant Rogers, you’re despicable.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Artist's Hands

You were tired. The patrons at the diner you worked at were harder today, more on edge as the war in Europe was getting worse and more men were being shipped out every day. All you wanted right now was to take off the uniform and cuddle up next to Steve.

Your feet were swollen and your legs sore. The wind swept your carefully curled hair back over your shoulders. You walked briskly down the sidewalk that was littered with newspapers and trash. The headlines on the papers looked the same as of late. The war was hard on everyone and especially Steve, Bucky, and yourself.

Both Bucky and you had picked up extra shifts where you could find them to help pay for Steve’s medicine. But with Bucky leaving in a week for basic, it would be even harder to help support him and pay the rent.

It didn’t matter though, you would do anything for him but you knew he hated the fact that he couldn’t be the one working and able to pay for it himself.

You opened the old door, welcoming the squeaking noise. It was dimly lit as it always was and you could barely see your white shoes fling across the floor as you kicked them off with a sigh of relief.

You walked to the couch, shoulders sagging and your purse dragging across the wood floor. You couldn’t stand the old thing. The feet of the couch were gone, some of the fabric was actually being ripped and worn down to the point where you could see the stuffing come out of the cushions. It would have to be stitched close.

The couch squeaked, making you flinch at the sound of it. It was like listening to nails being dragged against a chalkboard. Shifting on the couch from hell only made the noise louder. You finally found a position in which it felt like sleeping on clouds and with thoughts of having a new couch, you drifted to sleep, not even worrying about the missing blond.

* * *

 

He hadn’t realized how late it was and he hoped you hadn’t either. Steve had found the perfect job, well, almost perfect. There wasn’t too much back-breaking work involved and it paid more than what he was currently doing which was nothing.

He rushed down the street as much as he could with flat feet and his misshapen spine. The scrapes on his knees, bloody knuckles and split lip only contributed to the pain of running. He had to slow his pace as he could feel his lungs burn and the last thing he needed was a serious asthma attack.

As he walked in the door of the apartment, he saw your work shoes placed haphazardly on the floor and cringed. He knew the lecture he would get from you wouldn’t be pleasant.

Steve called your name softly but there was only silence. He thanked god that you were either asleep or you had gone out.

Slinking into the small bedroom that smelt strongly of mold and had the appeal of a wet piece of paper, he shrugged off his jacket and collected his sketchbook and pencils. They were the good pencils, expensive and hard to get. He’d remembered when you and Bucky had given them to him- he often liked to replay that day in his head, after all it was a good day- the both of you had been smiling so widely but he could see the exhaustion in your eyes. Bucky had picked up two shifts at the dock and one as a dishwasher at the diner you worked at while you had balanced three jobs, all miniscule and barely paid much at all.

He stepped into the living room and spotted you on the couch, stretched out and peaceful as you slept. And there, he had found inspiration.

Steve sat cross-legged not too far from your sleeping form and started his work.

* * *

 

You blinked as you woke up. Even after a nap, you were still tired and worn down as badly as the couch you laid on. The blond hair of possibly your favorite person in the entire world caught your attention but did nothing to wake you up, only making you smile fondly as you saw his floppy hair and cheek pressed against his palm as he slept.

You spotted his sketchbook in lap and pencils littered around his legs. You moved sluggishly to him, wanting to see what he’d been drawing.

It was hard to see exactly what he’d been drawing in this lighting but there was a faint outline which you still couldn’t make out. You stood up, wobbling a bit, and moved to the lamp by the couch. The light bulb flickered for a second. Your heart almost stopped in anticipation of whether or not it would turn on as the prices were too high at the moment.

The light finally stopped flickering and you could feel yourself relax. You turned back to Steve and sat on your knees to look over his shoulder.

It was you on the page while you had been sleeping.

You knew that he liked to draw Bucky but not you. You’d never seen him draw you. Picking up the sketchbook, which in your heart felt wrong, as if you were invading his privacy, you still flipped through it. The pages were filled with you. You covered your mouth with your hand, hiding a smile behind it. You could recognize some of the moments he had drawn but some you were sure he had drawn from his own imagination. There were drawing of you naked and gripping at sheets and you felt so split about it. Half of you wanted to slap him across the face and another part of you wanted to kiss him because now you were sure that he did feel something other than friendship for you.

Steve woke up and seeing you holding his sketchbook made him panic.

“What are you doing?” he asked with a shaky voice.

“Steven Grant Rogers, _you’re despicable_.”

You turned to him and smiled. He was nervous now, he’d seen that smile before he was chewed out for getting into a fight. Instead of that, you leaned towards him and gave him a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“No more nude drawings of me, got that?”

“Yes ma’am.” he said before leaning in and doing what you were too chicken to do. He kissed you softly, his hands tangling in your hair, the same hands that had brought you to life on a page. Calloused and rough but beautiful and talented. He pulled back and with a heavy breath, you smiled at him.

Steve stroked your cheek with his thumb. His blue eyes shined under the light of the now flickering light bulb.

The door opened behind you and you could hear Bucky’s loud steps. Your eyes were wide and you scrambled to close the sketchbook. Bucky stood above you, a smirk on his face as he looked between Steve and you.

“So, what did I miss?”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
